Don't Panic
by TheHiddenRaven
Summary: Gilbert suffers from something known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Usually, it's manageable and doesn't get in the way. But lately, it's been getting worse and worse. Finally the wall he's built collapses into a series of panic attacks that leave him ill and shaken. (Human names used.)


Another long day filled with far too many thoughts and far too many memories. This day had been particularly bad. All throughout it, Gilbert had found himself trapped inside the memories of his past and the man he used to be. Little things- a drop of a pen, the tearing of paper- would trigger flashbacks. Some of them were so violent, they left him physically shaking on the floor.

As the day progressed, the anxiety that filled the albino only worsened. By the time he got to Matthew's house to relax, he was so high strung he could hardly sit still. He had hoped that by going to see his beloved Canadian that maybe his anxiety would loosen a little, as it usually did when he was around Mattie. He never realized how awry such a hope could go.

It was all that _dummkopf_America's fault. Prussia had been relaxing at Canada's house, goofing off and playing a few games when Alfred had barged in and interrupted their time together. Naturally, they started playing Call of Duty. And naturally, Alfred felt it necessary to make crude comments during the game. Most were about wars and other violent acts and quite a few, Gilbert felt, were directed at him. Matched with the occasional glance in his direction from Alfred, and Gil knew that the blond was taking a jab at the older man.

It hadn't been bad at first. Just a few comments here and there, strategically, albeit unintentionally placed. Gil didn't mind the first few times because lord knows he did the same thing to both of the North Americans on a regular basis. But they gradually grew harsher as the game continued. After they finished playing the game, the boys decided to have a couple drinks and just talk.

Of course, the more Al and Mattie drank, the looser and cruder their speech patterns became. Al began talking of past wars and battles that pertained to Prussia and the country he used to be. Each battle brought back harsh memories and stabbed jolts of pain through his scars. He took this in stride, muttering under his breath about how un-awesome it would be to lose his cool.

He kept it together until an offhand comment was made about his dissolution. Oddly enough, it came from Matthew, not Alfred. And that only made it so much worse. The moment the end of the war was brought up, Gilbert was pulled into an intense flashback of his last days as a country. The pain of his lands being divided and spread out to different countries tore through him with a new wrath.

Gilbert didn't realize what had happened until he came to in Francis' car, covered in a thin veil of sweat and sick. Francis briefly explained to his friend that Matthew had called him, slurring his words and babbling about how Gillie was on the floor shaking and twitching. Gil just sighed and shook his head. Matthew was usually the one to take care of him when things like that happened, but the moment the Canadian got a drink in him, he became useless. A mess of slurred words, sweet touches, and disgustingly wet kisses. Certainly not in any state to be taking care of a Post Traumatic Stress induced panic attack.

Gilbert shoved that thought from his mind with a sharp shake of his head, sitting up in the seat carefully. Francis scrunched his nose at the smell coming from his friend but otherwise said nothing. The albino smiled faintly in understanding and opened the window until they arrived at his apartment. A murmured thanks and many vehement denials of needing help later, Gil stumbled into his apartment and headed straight for the shower.

Once clean, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and sat at his keyboard. He played for hours, humming softly to himself without thinking. Every time he tried to think again, another panic attack would strike, crippling him to the ground once more. Each one lasted longer than the previous. So finally, he settled for a sort of numbness that left him staring blankly at the wall as he played. This went well into the morning, then into lunch, and then into the next evening. The Prussian did whatever he could to keep from thinking, from feeling. He dreaded those flashbacks more than he dreaded the pained expression his brother would give should he ever find out that they were still happening.

Gilbert continued to play until a loud knock sounded through his home. His eyes snapped open and he looked around, gasping softly. It took him a moment, and another sharp knock, before he could stand up and really take in his surroundings. He fought to remember why he had been sitting numbly at his piano. When he did remember, he groaned and trudged to the kitchen, digging in his fridge for a beer.

He called to the door, saying he was coming as he opened the beer and took a long drag from it. Behind the door stood Antonio, one of his best friends. One look at his face was all it took for Prussia to sigh softly and push the door open, allowing his friend into his home. Antonio smiled, thanked him and walked to the kitchen to get himself a beer.

This was a typical routine for them. When Matthew wasn't around to help Gil out of his stupor, Antonio or Francis would take over for him. All together, the three of them had helped Gilbert fight off his PTSD and were doing everything they could to teach him how to cope. Each had a different method of helping. With Matthew, they would sit up and talk for hours, sharing small, sweet kisses here and there. Mattie always knew what to say to keep Gil calm and usually was able to do it quickly. The two would talk about anything and everything. It always worked to calm Gilbert in a way different from everyone else.

When Francis came to help, he would take Gilbert out to a club. It would always be a higher class club with less bass, so as to fend off the flashbacks. Together, the pair would scope out people, men and women, and have a little fun flirting with the high ends and messing with them. They would get stupidly drunk and then stumble back to one of their apartments well into the next morning and collapse on the nearest soft surface they could find. Although this one didn't help as much, it did a lot for fending off present anxiety and dealing with the retched hangover the next day or so usually kept it away a little longer.

Antonio was different from the other two in a way. He would come over to Gil's house, get him a beer, and just sit on the couch. It always started out in silence as Gil fought off the worst of it. Then, Toni would get the guitar he kept at Gil's place and he would play a few songs for his friend, singing softly, even getting Gil to grab his keyboard so he could join in. The two would play for a few hours until he felt calm enough to talk. After that, Toni would ask which memories had occurred this time. This was always the hardest part, but it did the most good. Gilbert would talk about the memories and Antonio would slowly work through the underlying issue behind the memory. Once done, he would explain it to Gil and they would work on a way to begin tackling the emotional suppression and horror behind it.

That is exactly what Antonio did that night, too. The difference, this time though, was that Gilbert had a new song for Toni to hear. So together, they wrote new songs and finished new music into the night. The depth of the songs increased as time passed. Gradually, Antonio was able to get Gil to express the pain and horror of his flashbacks through the songs. They stopped only to get more beer and once to eat. They hashed out emotion after emotion until both fell asleep at the piano. For the first time in weeks, Gilbert slept through the night and had good dreams. For now at least, his panic attacks were at bay once more and let him live his life.


End file.
